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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783704">champagne</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge'>thefudge</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Belligerent Sexual Tension, F/M, Sibling Incest, not really an M except for that sibling tension that shouldn't be there</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:28:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You say some awful things sometimes.” (mycroft/enola)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes/Mycroft Holmes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>champagne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>we both know i'm trash of the worst variety.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enola folds the fan over her mouth. Would it be terrible to yawn at the opera? Tewky swears by Donizetti and is absolutely enraptured with the soprano, but Enola finds it difficult to keep her eyes on the stage. The garbled Italian does not help, even though her mother taught her the basics. Perhaps a refreshment is in order if she must stand it for another hour. </p><p>She pries herself gently away, leaving her affianced in their private box. </p><p>In the hallway, Enola can breathe again. Those plush velvet seats felt oppressive. It's good to have the floor under her feet.</p><p>Yes, perhaps she feels jitters of another kind too, but she won't dwell on them even for a moment.</p><p>She soon finds her way to the small buffet on the mezzanine, quite deserted now. </p><p>Enola picks up a glass of champagne and drinks her fill, the bubbles tickling her throat. </p><p>"Leave some for the rest of us, little sister."</p><p>Trust her big brother to almost make her choke.</p><p>Enola wipes her mouth and turns to him with a sweet smile. "Hello, Mycroft. I did not know you were attending. Would you like some champagne?"</p><p>His bushy mustache is, as always, transfixed in disapproval. His eyes measure and decant her, picking out the dross.</p><p>Enola feels, as always, that he sees in her what she would like to hide. </p><p>"The opera doesn't agree with you, I gather?" he asks her in return.</p><p>"I think I don't agree with her, actually."</p><p>"I see our dear mother did not cultivate all the fine arts in you," he observes in his peculiarly infuriating way.</p><p>"At least I can be moved by art. I sense you're only moved by the efficient run of a grandfather clock," she tells him, devilishly impertinent yet unable to help herself whenever she is in his presence. </p><p>Mycroft scowls. "Talking to you has proved, as always, profitless." </p><p>"Oh come now, big brother, you can't be cross with me."</p><p>"And why ever not?"</p><p>"Because I've made a very good marriage." </p><p>And she once again shows him the engagement diamond that Tewky bestowed upon her with all his love. </p><p>Mycroft looks at it as if he has not seen it before, like a jeweller deciding its worth every time. </p><p>"There are still some months to go before the wedding," he says at length.  "I expect you to bungle it up yet. You'll probably dash off on the Orient Express and leave your husband in the dust."</p><p>Enola's smile fades. How does he always hit the spot which has already cracked? </p><p>“You say some awful things sometimes.”</p><p>“Most awful things are true, I find.” He takes a step closer and gingerly takes the glass of half-drunk champagne from her fingers. He finishes the glass for her. Enola watches him drink.</p><p>When he is finished, he places the glass behind her. His breath almost tickles her cheek.</p><p>“If you do plan such escape, perhaps this time you will not disguise yourself as a chimney sweep.”</p><p>His face is quite close. She’d like to punch it.  Scratch it a little, at least. The way he’s staring at her, he might want to do the same. But why? Why has there always been this animosity between them? She is older now. An almost respectable young woman. Why must it still be like this between them?</p><p>“I was thinking rather of donning my widow’s weeds. They served me well once,” she replies, not to be bested by him.</p><p>Mycroft smiles, though it is more of a smirk. “Curious that you should think of widowhood so close to your nuptials.”</p><p>Enola inhales sharply. She hates how easily he has led her here. “Some of us have more imagination than that, brother.”</p><p>His eyes rake over her coldly. “I shall leave imagination to you. But means of departure are in my purview.”</p><p>It takes Enola several moments to understand his meaning.</p><p>“You - you would help me run away?”</p><p>“I would make sure you would not embarrass yourself again,” he replies coolly. “But of course, I wish you all the happiness with the Viscount.”</p><p>It maddens her. His double meanings. His contradictions. One moment he requires her to be a paragon of femininity, the next he expects – no, <em>encourages</em> her - to fail.</p><p><em>I don’t understand what you want</em>, she means to say, but what comes out instead is a question.</p><p>“What do you want, Mycroft?”</p><p>Her big brother cocks his head to the side. Once more, she is quantified.</p><p>Enola feels that her corset has gotten smaller, that the lovely dress which once belonged to her mother’s is not a good fit, after all.</p><p>“I want to be right, of course,” he rasps. “But do give Donizetti a second chance before you decide you don’t like his music.”</p><p>And she knows it is not the Italian composer he is referring to.</p><p>As a goodbye, he takes her hand perfunctorily and kisses it. But there’s nothing perfunctory about the kiss. The press of his lips and the almost mean pressure he applies to her palm are both as sharp and heady as bubbly champagne.  </p><p>He leaves her there with an imprint of him, and the obscure idea, buried deep in her thoughts, that he might want her to choose flight. Choose him.</p><p>No, that would be quite preposterous. Quite unlike him. And her.</p><p>Although...how is it that he hit upon her at a moment of solitude, unless he saw her leave her box and followed her? </p><p>She reaches for another glass of champagne with a trembling hand.</p><p>She looks at the transparent liquid, golden amber in the chandelier light, and she thinks, <em>he can see right through me.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
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